


The Wondrous Things

by JessicaPendragon



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-29 01:34:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5111465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessicaPendragon/pseuds/JessicaPendragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is dirt underneath her fingernails.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wondrous Things

**Author's Note:**

> A prompt fic featuring nightmarefeast's Inquisitor.

There is dirt underneath her fingernails.

It has never bothered her before. It means she’s worked hard for all that she has. She’s clawed through the world, trudged on where the weak would falter. Every dogged mile has made her stronger, smarter, and she wouldn’t trade one lesson earned for one freely given.

But there is dirt underneath her fingernails and now she hides them behind her back.

She’s not ashamed. Not really. It is just that the splendor of Val Royeaux makes any heist she pulled in the past look like the bland candy in someone’s glass dish instead of the glistening chandelier above. Music flows through the streets, mixes with vibrant fabrics in patterns she’s never imagined. 

“Everything is so beautiful here,” she says.

At her side, Blackwall grunts in disagreement. “The bright ones are only more poisonous, Inquisitor.”

She frowns up at him but his eyes are too busy scanning the area like he expects an attack at any moment.

They come across a market table littered with precious gems shining like stars against a black cloth. There are rubies, sapphires, and diamonds set in gorgeous jewelry of silver and gold, dozens of others she can’t even name.

“Greetings, Inquisitor,” the owner says. “Would you care to try something on? Perhaps these lovely emeralds to match your mark, yes?”

Brielle’s eyes drift over the merchandise and are blinded by the sparkle and shine of it all. She can’t see herself wearing any of it. She was not made with the wondrous things of this world. She is forged of tempered metal, purpose driven and set to task. 

Her gaze settles on a string of pearls off to the side. Against the glittering gems they seem understated, but there is something about them that calls to her. They began as something small, insignificant, and grew to something treasured with every layer added. They seem to be one thing, but move and they dance with surprising color. They are more than what they seem.

Fingers reach out to touch them, but she stops when she sees the grime etched into the lines of her hand. She pulls back and tucks her hands away. Brielle tries to ignore the weight of Blackwall’s stare and gives a quick farewell to the shopkeeper before turning and leaving the market behind.

Much later, Brielle takes comfort in the warm ground beneath their tent. It’s a splendor in itself, not bold and brash like the fleeting colors of marble, but solid, sure. She feels foolish for her reaction earlier. She knows her worth is not weighed in carats and pounds. But even so…

Something cool slips across the skin of her neck and she startles at the touch. Fingers brush against something smooth and round and she glances down to find the necklace of pearls. “What-what did you do?”

“Saw you looking at them. Figured no place more deserving than around your pretty neck,” he explains as his lips touch a sensitive spot behind her ear. His beard tickles as his caresses move down her arm and across the back of her hand. He takes the time to kiss every knuckle as if she is worthy of such worship and she swallows this heavy thing growing inside.

Brielle pulls him to her mouth for a kiss that bruises and heals. 

There is dirt underneath her fingernails, pearls around her neck and his love on her lips, and she has never felt more wonderful.


End file.
